


Heralds of Winter

by riventhorn



Series: Arthur/Leon [7]
Category: Merlin BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after episode 3.13. Uther has been restored to the throne, but the kingdom is suffering from months of war. Leon is at Arthur's side as they face the aftermath of Morgana's betrayal. Part seven in my Arthur/Leon verse, which began with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/166074">Anything For You</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heralds of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; no profit is being made from this

When Leon had been a boy, dreaming of becoming a knight of Camelot, he had envisioned jousting in tournaments and fighting battles—an endless procession of danger and glory. The reality, he had come to learn, was that most of his time was spent sitting in council meetings, riding out on dull patrols, or conducting inventories of the armory.

This morning—far too early for Leon’s liking—he was standing at the main gate, Elyan at his side, collecting tithes from the wagons of grain that were winding into the city from the outlying farms. His feet were cold, and he was already heartily sick of listening to the endless litany of excuses that every farmer seemed to have for why they couldn’t possibly afford to give up any of their grain that year.

It didn’t help that many of their excuses were good ones.

“We lost half the crop during the siege,” one man explained, twisting his hat in his hands. “Cenred’s soldiers set fire to the fields—slaughtered our pig, too. My family has to eat this winter, my lord, and I was only able to set a little of the barley aside for trade. If you take ten bushels, how am I supposed to raise the money to pay the king’s tax, my lord?”

“Every farmer owes the tithe,” Leon replied. “I understand your troubles, but I’m afraid I cannot make an exception.”

“But, Leon,” Elyan began quietly.

“Not now, Sir Elyan,” Leon said, motioning for him to remain silent. He turned back to the farmer.

“If you do not pay the tithe peaceably, I will order the guards to take it. And you will spend the day in the stocks.”

The farmer sighed, nodded slowly, and began to unload the required sacks. Leon directed them into another cart which would be trundled off to the castle storerooms once it was full. He took down the farmer’s name, noting that he had paid the tithe, and then waved him through.

Elyan put his hand on Leon’s arm. “Leon, that man—we shouldn’t have taken the grain. Did you see how shabby his clothes were—and his horse was half-starved! He’s probably kept back barely enough to feed his family.”

“And what are the soldiers who protect him and his family going to eat this winter if we don’t take the grain?” Leon demanded. “What are _you_ going to eat? Or the destitute people who have fled here from Cenred’s old kingdom and are subsisting on the meager handouts we’re able to give them?”

Elyan grimaced. “But—”

“In good years, the tithe isn’t such a burden. But this wasn’t a good year—with all the troubles and that bad hailstorm a few weeks ago on top of it—the harvest is poor. Arthur’s already reduced the tithe by a few bushels, but he can’t stop it altogether.”

“I know, I just—” Elyan sighed and fell silent.

Leon tried to think of something else to say, but words couldn’t make this better. He stared out at the line of wagons, none of them carrying as much grain as in years past. He thought of the many empty beds in the barracks, of all the men who had been lost to war over the last few months. They wouldn’t have enough soldiers to send out against the raiders and bandits who would be prowling the countryside, themselves victims of war and upheaval. Sighing, Leon scrubbed a weary hand over his face. Spring would be a long time in coming this year.

He handed Elyan the ledger. “You’ve seen how this works,” he said. “I’ll leave you in charge here—I’m going to check on things in the storerooms.”

Elyan fumbled with the ledger, looking alarmed.

“Relax, _Sir_ Elyan,” Leon told him, stressing his new title. “After fighting immortal soldiers and emerging relatively unscathed, I’m sure you can handle a few farmers.”

Elyan took a deep breath and motioned for the next wagon to approach. He was skilled with a sword, but needed develop an air of command. Leon had noticed that he often deferred to the other knights and sounded hesitant when giving orders. Not a surprise, considering his background, but he’d need to overcome it if he was ever going to command men in battle. Collecting tithes was a good place to start.

He clapped Elyan on the back and left him to it, walking back towards the castle. Dealing with farmers was nothing like facing dragons or fighting men who couldn’t die. But in truth, Leon wasn’t sure he wouldn’t take the dragon over listening to the pleas of men whose families would probably be starving before spring arrived.

He took a detour on his way to the storerooms and stopped by the stables. A merchant had arrived yesterday with a string of fine horses for sale. Gwaine was supposed to be meeting with him that morning. Horses were another thing they were short on after the latest round of fighting.

There was no sign of Gwaine in the stables. Leon finally located him out in the back, hunched over a rough table and dicing with the merchant. A flagon of ale stood at his elbow.

“Sir Gwaine,” Leon said, and Gwaine looked up, grinning.

“Leon! Care to join us?”

“If I might speak to you for a moment, Sir Gwaine? In private,” Leon added when Gwaine gestured for him to take a seat.

“What is it?” Gwaine asked when they were standing in the shadows by the stable door. “I think I should be able to get a good price on these horses. Might even win one or two if I get a few lucky throws!”

“Knights of Camelot do not gamble,” Leon said, fixing Gwaine with a stern eye. “Particularly not with grubby horse merchants.”

Gwaine scowled. “I may be a knight, but I’m certainly not going to act like that somehow makes me better than other men.”

“You are better than other men.” Leon paused. “Or at least you might be. Hopefully. At some point in the near future.”

“Why? Because I have a pretty red cloak and the prince touched me on the shoulder with a sword?”

“No. You’re better because you represent justice,” Leon replied, struggling to keep his voice low. “Because unlike men who merely speak of practicing honor and nobility, your every action follows the knights’ code.”

Gwaine shrugged, although his smile had faded. “Fancy words that don’t mean much in the real world.”

“They’ll mean something if you _make_ them mean something,” Leon retorted. “Spending your nights drinking in taverns or gambling with horse merchants reflects poorly on all of us.”

“Fine,” Gwaine grumbled. “But I should have known adding a title to my name would take all the fun out of life.”

“Don’t disappoint the prince’s trust in you. Don’t disappoint _Merlin’s_ trust.”

Gwaine glared, but he straightened his cloak, went back to the merchant, and poured out the rest of the ale onto the ground. “I’ve been told that drink breeds sloth and avarice,” he announced in a falsely pious tone over the merchant’s protests.

Leon bit back a groan. How well he remembered that day, lying next to Arthur by the lake on his family’s estate, promising that he would help Arthur show any man who wished to join how to be a true knight of Camelot. If he had known one of those men was going to be Gwaine, he might have held his tongue.

But no—that wasn’t really true. Leon was glad to have Gwaine by his side. And Elyan and Lancelot and Percival. An unusual group, but all of them had fought for Arthur, had pledged their loyalty to the prince, and that was enough for Leon. Uther had tried to revoke their knighthoods at first, but he hadn’t argued when Arthur sprang to their defense.

“I trust your judgment, Arthur,” the king had said quietly, falling back into one of the long, melancholy silences that he seemed to spend most of his time in these days. Leon thought Arthur would almost have preferred it if his father had raged at him, arguing forcefully and commandingly, as he would have in the past.

Leon made it to the storerooms without further incident, only to find that half the grain had been taken to the wrong part of the castle. He was in the middle of sorting it out when a young boy dashed up to him, panting.

“Sir Leon!” He fumbled in the bag at his side and drew out a letter. “A message for you, sir, from your mother, Lady Maerwynn.”

Leon took the letter, stomach sinking—gods, what if someone had fallen ill? He ripped into it hastily, quickly scanning the words.

 _After the troubles over the summer, we are looking forward to a quiet winter here, though the harvest was not what it should have been. Things have settled down, and the sheriff that the witch sent disappeared when he learned that the prince had restored his father to the throne._

 _Although a quiet winter appeals to me and your father, I fear that it will prove too dull for your sister, Margaret. We have decided that she shall spend the winter with you in Camelot. I trust that you will watch after her and ensure that she comports herself properly. You will know which ladies it will be appropriate for her to spend time with, and I’m sure you will introduce her to any suitable lords and knights._

 _Take care of yourself, Leon. I will send a new pair of fur-lined boots for you soon, which I want you to promise to wear faithfully when the weather grows cold._

Folding the letter, Leon wondered despairingly if the day could possibly get any worse. Not that he didn’t want to see his sister, but she was coming for the express purpose of finding a husband, and if she picked someone that their mother did not approve of, Leon was the one who would be on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing.

 _Dear gods, she’s going to meet Gwaine_ , Leon realized. He wasn’t going to let the man within a _foot_ of his sister. He reviewed the other knights and nobles currently at the castle. No, he wasn’t going to be able to let Margaret out of his sight.

The day didn’t get worse, but it didn’t improve markedly either until he stumbled into his rooms in the evening and discovered Arthur stretched across his bed. He must have dozed off while waiting for Leon.

Carefully, Leon sat down on the bed and put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur started, and then remembered where he was, relaxing back onto the pillow and smiling.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wanted to talk with you about the latest scouting reports. First I sat down, and then I lay down, and then—” He shrugged. “I’ll have to stop Merlin from waking me up at ghastly hours of the morning.”

He wouldn’t, of course. With Uther ill, Arthur had been taking on more and more duties, but still had to get the king’s approval for practically everything. He was being run ragged, and Uther’s brooding silence and the lingering sting of Morgana’s betrayal didn’t help matters.

“Would you like to dine here this evening, sire?” Leon offered. The alternative was the hall, crowded with courtiers, or Arthur’s own room, alone.

“Yes, thank you, Leon.” Arthur smiled and rubbed a lazy hand up and down Leon’s arm.

“Come,” Leon said, catching his hand and pulling him up. “I’ll send for some food from the kitchens.”

Merlin showed up at the door a while later, a tray loaded with meats and breads in his hands.

“Ah, Merlin, excellent,” Arthur said, reaching out and grabbing a slice of ham. “Did you get my boots mended, as I asked?”

“Yes, sire.” Merlin helped himself to a slice of ham as well and then retreated a few paces.

“Don’t skulk in the corner, Merlin,” Arthur snapped, pushing out a chair.

Merlin sat down, giving Leon a nervous smile. Leon gestured for him to have some more to eat. There had been an odd give-and-take between Arthur and Merlin, ever since Merlin had sat with them at the round table. He was still a servant, and Arthur still ordered him around, but the prince also made these occasional gestures that suggested a rough sort of equality.

Arthur was devouring his food as though he hadn’t had a bite since breaking his fast that morning. And he probably hadn’t. Leon frowned. It wouldn’t help anyone if Arthur worked himself to death.

“Will you be wanting to sample the tablecloth as well, sire?” Merlin said lightly, but Leon could see the worried look in his eyes.

“I saw the wagons coming into the city this morning,” Arthur said, tearing off another chunk of bread and silencing Merlin with a glare. “Not nearly as many as in past years.”

“No. The harvest was poor, sire. With the siege earlier in the year, and the fighting the last few weeks…” Leon poked dispiritedly at his food. “It will be difficult for many of the peasants to pay their taxes.”

“I know,” Arthur said. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back, shoulders slumping. “I shall speak to the king. Ask him to reduce the tax as much as possible. If we didn’t have Bayard peering over the border it would be easier!” he added. “He knows that we’ve been weakened, and it won’t take much for him to break the treaty. I’ve been considering hiring mercenaries to replenish our forces and to do that, I cannot abolish the tax entirely.”

“Yes, sire. Perhaps we might start training some of the refugees—I’m sure many would exchange their service for steady meals and a place to shelter.”

“I know they would,” Merlin put in. “None of them liked Cenred—they would be loyal to you, Arthur.”

“They will be loyal to my _father_ ,” Arthur corrected. “I suppose we had better do it, although most have never held anything more dangerous than a pitchfork. Put Lancelot on it—he’s good at finding words to inspire men, and he’s been in their place, knows what it’s like to lose everything.” Arthur sighed and said softly, almost to himself, “How—how could she _do_ this?”

Merlin’s face twisted into the bitter expression he wore whenever Morgana was mentioned. He started to speak, but Leon laid a hand on his arm. Better not to keep dwelling on the past. They needed Arthur focused on the present and a hopefully better future, not berating himself for decisions made long ago.

Arthur was staring down at his empty plate. Standing, Leon went over to him and put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “You’re weary, sire,” he said. “Let Merlin attend to you in your chambers.”

But Arthur leaned his head against Leon’s side. “No.” He sighed again. “Let me stay here tonight. With you.”

“I’ll take these down to the kitchen,” Merlin said quietly, gathering up the dishes. He paused next to Leon as he walked to the door and whispered, “Try to get him to sleep more than a few hours—he’s been awake past midnight every day for the past week.”

Leon nodded, threading his fingers through Arthur’s hair where it rested warm against his side. He waited until Merlin had left before bending down to kiss Arthur.

They stripped down to their tunics and crawled into bed, Arthur immediately sliding his arm around Leon and pressing close. Leon held him, one hand rubbing slowly over Arthur’s shoulder—the one that had been injured and still sometimes troubled the prince.

“I don’t want you to die for me,” Arthur said suddenly, and Leon, who had been dozing off, started awake.

“Sire? What—?”

“You said that there was no one you would rather die for,” Arthur continued, his voice low and choked. “And I don’t want that. I _don’t_.”

“Arthur…” Leon trailed off, unsure what to say. He couldn’t take back the words. They were true. His life belonged to his prince. It would always belong to Arthur.

“When Merlin first came here,” Arthur said, his voice a little muffled for he was pressing his face against Leon’s chest, “and he drank from that poisoned goblet, my father refused to let me go find the antidote. He said—” Arthur’s voice failed him for a moment, but then he went on, fingers twisted into Leon’s tunic. “He said that Merlin wouldn’t be the last to die for me. He wanted me to get used to it. Used to sending men to their deaths.”

“But you saved him. He didn’t die.”

“Not for lack of trying, the idiot.” Fondness and exasperation and fear all swirled together in Arthur’s voice. “And now there’s you and Lance and Percival and all the rest and…I can’t save you all,” Arthur finished in a whisper.

“We’re not asking you to,” Leon told him. “We chose to follow you.”

“As prince—as a king—I can command men in battle. I can order them to fight. But Merlin—and you, Leon, and I fear my other knights, as well—for you are mine, my knights of the round table—you didn’t swear to a prince or a king. You swore to _me_. And I—I am only a man.”

“A man who would give his life to protect his people. To protect his friends.” He rested his forehead against Arthur’s. “Do you think that you are the only one who lies awake at night, worried that you will not be able to save the ones you love?”

Arthur shook his head, his breath warm against Leon’s face.

“We are all only men, Arthur.” Reaching down, he tugged the blanket up over them. “Now sleep, my prince, in the restful night.”

When Leon awoke the next morning, Arthur was already dressed and pulling on his boots. The fears and shadows they had spoken of had lessened slightly, leaving Arthur’s face clear, although Leon doubted that their weight had completely lifted from his shoulders.

“I’ll need you to oversee the knights’ training today,” Arthur said. “I need to go over the matter of the taxes with my father and speak with the seneschal.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Watch Philip in particular—he has a damnable habit of treating his sword like a scythe and going for wide, sweeping attacks—leaves him open to a simple thrust.”

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur paused, a smile creeping over his face. Coming over, he leaned down and kissed Leon. It was a more ardent kiss than Leon had expected, and he groaned into it, pushing up for more. But Arthur pulled away.

“My brave knight,” he murmured, carding a hand through Leon’s hair. “I rewarded the others by knighting them, but you had already earned that honor. What can I do to show my thanks?”

“It is not necessary,” Leon began, flushing, but Arthur stopped him.

“I have bared myself to you,” he said. “You have seen my weaknesses, my desires, my fears and have never mocked me or thought less of me. Please, I want to give you something in return.”

“I want for nothing, my lord. I already have more than I ever dreamed possible.”

“Still,” Arthur said, his smile lingering. “If you think of anything—however small it may be, you have only to ask.”

It wasn’t until Arthur had left, already shouting for Merlin as he strode down the corridor, that Leon’s thoughts strayed to his saddlebag and the bundle of silk still hidden there.

*

Margaret arrived a fortnight later, riding into the courtyard with her maid and a small escort. “Leon!” she cried out when she saw him, and he lifted her down off her horse, hugging her tightly.

“The castle is so big,” she gasped, staring up at the towers. “Our entire manor would fit into a single wing!”

Leon smiled, tucking her arm into his. “You’ll get used to it. I’ll show you to your rooms. They’re near to mine and have a lovely view of the gardens, although it’s a bit barren now, with winter coming on.”

“I’m sure it will still be beautiful. Cedany will be so jealous when I write to her! And Rowan, too.”

“I suppose he’ll be traveling this way next year himself. That is, if he still wants to become a knight.”

“Oh, his ambitions have not changed, I assure you.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “He spends every spare moment practicing with his sword and pestering father to hold a joust. Mother will miss him dreadfully, though. She does dote on him, and father is no better.” She squeezed Leon’s arm. “I’m glad he wasn’t here this year, though. We—we were so afraid you had been killed, Leon. It was so hard to get word on what was happening, and there were rumors that the witch had slaughtered everyone in the city! They said the prince was dead, and I knew that if that were true, you must be dead also.”

“There—don’t cry, Margaret!” Leon exclaimed as his sister’s eyes brimmed with tears. “All is well now.”

“I know.” She sniffed and fished out a handkerchief. “It was just terrible, though, Leon. Not knowing if you were safe.”

He had carefully avoided letting slip in his letters home exactly how close he had come to dying. His memories of when the druids had saved him with water from the Cup of Life were thankfully dim and confused. All he could remember was terrible pain and then a drifting sense of peace and darkness.

“Never mind all that now,” he said aloud. “I’m to present you to the court this evening, and I know you’ll want to look your best.”

Margaret immediately called for her maid, Leon’s presence quite forgotten as they debated which dress she should wear. But it was with a deep pride that Leon took his sister on his arm later in the day, waiting in front of the hall doors to be announced. She really was lovely, her blue dress highlighting her eyes, her hair arranged in an elegant style. “You look beautiful,” he whispered to her, and she gave him a happy smile.

The king nodded in a pleasant, but distant way as Margaret curtsied before him. Arthur, however, rose and came down to them. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Margaret,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I have such fond memories of the days I spent at your family’s home. I trust you will convey my greetings to your parents when next you write to them.”

“Oh, I shall, sire,” Margaret replied, blushing.

“And you will let me know if you need anything while you are staying here. You find your chambers pleasant?”

“Yes—it is nice to know I will not have to be sharing them with my sister,” she admitted with a laugh.

Arthur smiled. “I will let Leon introduce you to the members of the court. It appears that some of my knights are quite eager to make your acquaintance.”

Sure enough, Gwaine was right there, offering a flourishing bow. “Leon, I simply cannot believe that this charming creature is your sister,” he said. “Has he been keeping you locked in a tower, milady?”

“Oh, no,” Margaret replied, laughing again. “My mother only just gave me permission to travel to Camelot to visit him, Sir—?”

“Gwaine, milady, at your service.”

“Sir Gwaine is a recent addition to the knights,” Leon said. “So recent that sometimes he forgets his duties.” He had made sure to schedule Gwaine for a patrol that evening to get him safely out of the castle.

Gwaine grimaced. “Indeed, I’m afraid I must take my leave of you, milady. Though perhaps I might have the honor of your company in the near future?”

“This is Sir Lancelot,” Leon said loudly, tugging Margaret away. “And Sir Percival.”

Lancelot bowed decorously over her hand, and Percival did the same, looking awkward. “It is rare that I see a man who matches my brother in height,” Margaret told him, and Percival blushed.

“Sir Leon has been most kind in introducing me to the ways of the knights,” he stammered.

“Oh, did you not learn them as a boy?” Margaret inquired politely.

“Uh, no, milady,” Percival said, looking even more embarrassed.

Leon wasn’t entirely sure what Percival had been doing before Lancelot found him, but he knew it had been some rough sort of trade and that his family had been farmers. He doubted that Percival could read—Elyan either, for that matter, and perhaps not even Lancelot. He’d have to do something about that, he realized, chagrined that it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

“Come, Margaret, I want to introduce you to Lady Eleanor,” he said quickly, rescuing Percival from any more innocent but awkward questions.

“The new knights are so chivalrous,” Margaret said to him when they sat down to supper in the banquet hall. “And handsome. Although I’m afraid I said something to offend the tall one—Percival.”

“No, it’s just that Percival, and the others, too, were peasants, to put it bluntly.”

Margaret’s eyes widened. “But the prince—”

“Recognizes that a man’s worth is not defined by how much money or power he possesses. They’re all good men, Margaret. We’ve fought together, and I would trust all of them with my life.”

Margaret frowned, quiet as she absorbed this information. “Would you trust them with mine?” she asked at last.

Leon took a deep breath. “Yes. Although I wish you wouldn’t encourage Gwaine. I trust him, but he’s a bit of a scoundrel, still. I don’t want you getting your heart broken.”

Margaret smiled. “You’re sweet to be so concerned for me, brother. And don’t worry, I shall keep my guard up around the likes of Sir Gwaine.”

*

“The knights are all quite enamored with your sister,” Arthur said to him a few days later. They were in the armory, Arthur sharpening his sword while Leon re-wrapped the leather guard around his quarterstaff. Arthur had joined them at practice that day—the first time in over a week—and was looking sweaty and tired but satisfied.

“And why shouldn’t they be?” Leon asked. “She is beautiful, intelligent—whoever wins her hand shall have nothing to complain about.”

“Peace, I meant no offence,” Arthur said, smiling. “And I quite agree.” He paused. “She does know about Gwaine and the other three—that they have… _limited_ prospects as opposed to some of the others?”

“She knows. Not that it will change her heart if she falls for one of them.” Leon glanced at Arthur. “Besides, once you are king, you will reward them with lands to go with their titles, will you not?”

“Of course. But—well, that could be years away.” Arthur frowned, clearly thinking of his father, and Leon regretted bringing it up. He started to change the subject, but Arthur continued, “Speaking of rewards, have you given any more thought to yours?”

“Sire, I need nothing.”

“But surely there is something you _want_?” Arthur’s voice deepened on the last word, and Leon cleared his throat, flushing.

In truth, he did want something, and it had been in his mind ever since Arthur had asked the first time. What had possessed him to keep the silken shift he had worn under the dress when escaping from the dungeons he didn’t know, but he should have tossed it into the fire long ago. Because now all he could think about was Arthur wearing it. The lavender silk brushing against his skin, swirling around his legs as he knelt before Leon, opening his mouth to—

“There is something, isn’t there?” Arthur demanded, grinning slyly.

“No, sire,” Leon said firmly. He could never ask Arthur to wear the dress, no matter how much he might desire it.

Arthur didn’t look like he believed Leon, but he didn’t press the matter. “I want to send out a patrol into the Forest of Ascetir before the snows come,” he said instead. “Try to flush out as many bandits as we can.”

“I’ll start organizing it at once, sire.”

“Good. I think I shall ride with you as well. I haven’t been out of the castle for weeks now, and I want to see firsthand what matters are like in the countryside.”

*

Leon was walking down the corridor to Margaret’s room that evening, on his way to escort her to supper, when he heard voices up ahead. He paused, listening.

“I have hardly ever traveled more than five miles from home. It’s a little intimidating to be here, with all the people and the grand ceremonies of court. I feel so—provincial.” That was Margaret, her voice quiet but warm.

“I find it overwhelming, too.” It was Percival, Leon realized with some surprise. Out of all of them, he would have picked Lance as the one Margaret was most likely to develop feelings for, but then Lance was often rather stand-offish as far as women were concerned.

“I could never leave, though,” Percival continued. “Not while I’m needed here. And I fear the troubles are only beginning.”

“Oh, don’t say that!” Margaret exclaimed. “You’ve just won a great victory—surely no one will dare to challenge Camelot now?”

“Perhaps not.” Leon could hear the smile in Percival’s voice. “I hope that you will not be leaving Camelot soon, either.”

“I shall stay the winter, at least. And maybe longer,” Margaret added softly.

Embarrassed that he had listened as long as he had, Leon stepped forward, and Margaret caught sight of him. “Leon!” she exclaimed. “I was just coming to find you, and I met Sir Percival.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “And how was your day?” he asked.

“Dull,” Margaret replied. “I spent the afternoon with Lady Anne doing embroidery, which you know I detest.”

“Well, we’ll have to think of something more entertaining for tomorrow. You haven’t been to see the market yet, have you? Perhaps Percival might escort you.”

“It would be my pleasure, milady,” Percival said quickly.

A band of minstrels entertained the party at supper and quite a few of the lords and ladies got up to dance. Leon noticed that Margaret gave Percival several hopeful glances, but he remained silent, fixing his attention on his plate. Margaret sat back, trying to conceal her disappointment.

Leon caught up with Percival in the corridor afterwards. “My sister is growing fond of you,” he said, leading Percival into an alcove that offered a modicum of privacy.

“And I of her,” Percival admitted.

Leon eyed him sternly. “As long as this isn’t a whim on your part, I have no objections. But I won’t have you getting her hopes up and then dashing them.”

“Of course not! Though, I have little to offer her. No lands, hardly any money.”

“That may change soon enough. And then you’ll need a capable wife to look after your affairs when you’re off fighting.” Leon leaned closer. “Now, tell me the truth—why didn’t you ask her to dance tonight?”

Percival shrugged. “I don’t know how to dance. At least, not in a manner fit for court.”

“Not to worry.” Leon clapped him on the shoulder. “Come to my room tomorrow night, and I’ll give you a few lessons. You don’t have to be perfect, but stepping on Margaret’s toes won’t do you any good.”

And so it was that a startled Arthur opened his door the next evening to find him and Percival cavorting around the room, hands clasped. “Do I want to know?” the prince said, raising his eyebrows.

Leon stumbled to a halt, flushing. “I was merely giving Percival a few lessons in the graces of the court, sire.”

“So I can dance with his sister,” Percival added quickly, looking as mortified as Leon felt.

“Oh, his _sister_ , of course,” Arthur said, obviously fighting down a laugh. “You make quite the handsome couple, though.”

“I—I have duties to attend to, sire,” Percival stammered, giving a quick bow and making his escape. Arthur gave up trying to hold back his laughter and sank down in a chair.

“I really think the two of you should do a demonstration for the other knights,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

Leon grimaced and muttered, “I should prefer _not_ to do so, sire.”

“But if I ordered you to?” Arthur said, still grinning.

Leon gave him a glare.

Arthur laughed again. “Do not fear—I shall keep it to myself. Though I should think my silence would be worth something—a kiss or two perhaps?”

“I would never begrudge you that,” Leon said, and he knelt by the chair. It was strange to have Arthur above him, to be the one tilting his face upwards. Arthur kissed him slowly and kept his hand tangled in Leon’s hair when they parted.

“What is it?” Arthur whispered. “You’ve been keeping something from me. Tell me what it is.”

Leon shook his head, trying to move away, but Arthur’s grip tightened.

“Tell me,” he repeated, eyes studying Leon’s face. “I want to please you. I want to give you whatever it is you desire.”

Leon blushed, struggling upright. He had heard Arthur begging under him, submitting to his orders and caresses, but to hear Arthur say such things still unsettled him a little. It could be difficult, sometimes, to see a lover instead of a prince.

But Arthur’s next words reminded him that he often needed to do so—that _Arthur_ needed him to do so.

Seeing Leon’s hesitation, Arthur had stiffened slightly, his smile fading. “I will not trouble you further this evening,” he began, standing up, but Leon stopped him.

“No.” He kissed Arthur gently. “I’ll tell you. Just wait here a moment.”

He went to his saddlebags and took out the silken shift. Drawing a deep breath, he turned back to Arthur, holding it out. “I want you to wear this,” he said quickly.

Arthur reached for it. He looked puzzled but not angry. “Why?” he asked, frowning. “Do you see me as a woman?”

“No! No, of course not,” Leon exclaimed, blushing again. “I just—I like the thought of the silk against your skin, of seeing you in something so different. This is soft and gentle. I like the thought of you being like that. For me. Just for a while.”

He didn’t add that there was always something gentle about Arthur’s nature. A kindness that no amount of armor or battle could ever completely eradicate.

Arthur ran his hands thoughtfully over the silk and then nodded. “All right,” he said. “But turn your back—I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Leon swallowed, his mouth dry, and did as Arthur asked. He listened to the rustling of Arthur’s clothes, the thud of his boots as he tossed them aside, some muffled cursing as Arthur struggled with the sleeves.

“You’ll have to reach the laces,” Arthur said at last, and Leon turned, catching his breath.

Whatever Gwen had done to the dress had made it broad enough to fit Leon’s chest and shoulders, and it fit Arthur’s, too. But she’d also made it tall enough for Leon which meant that silk pooled around Arthur’s feet. Leon’s fingers shook as he tied the laces in the back. He trailed his hand down Arthur’s spine, and Arthur shivered.

Taking Arthur by the shoulders, he turned him around. Arthur’s hair was disheveled, and his face flushed. “Do you like it?” he asked quietly.

Leon nodded, words failing him. He stumbled backwards to the bed, sinking down, and Arthur followed, tripping a little over the hem. A tug at Arthur’s waist had him climbing up and straddling Leon’s lap. Leon mouthed along the collar where it dipped across Arthur’s chest, and rubbed his fingers lightly over Arthur’s nipples through the silk.

“ _Oh_ ,” Arthur breathed, and he slipped his arms around Leon’s neck, leaning forward for a kiss.

“Arthur,” Leon whispered. “My sweet Arthur.” He bore them to the bed, Arthur underneath him, dress twisted around his legs. Arthur’s eyes were wide, looking up at Leon, and when he slid a hand up Arthur’s leg, under the dress, and skimmed the head of Arthur’s hard length, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, groaning.

Leon stroked him, watching every expression that flitted across Arthur’s face. The lavender silk draped over his body gave him such a different appearance—stripped him more than simply being naked. Leon had seen his nakedness many times—in bed, in the river on a hot day, in the tents on a hunting trip. And there was always some vestige of royalty—he always _knew_ Arthur was the prince, no matter what words he kissed into Arthur’s skin.

But here, like this, all Leon could see was a young man, trembling and needy, arching into his touch with soft cries. An air of innocence clung to him, as though despite everything, he would never cease to put his trust in the goodness of the world. And he was so, so precious to Leon.

“Come for me, love,” Leon said, and a moment later, Arthur did.

He sagged back, sweaty and panting, and spread his legs when Leon urged them apart. The silk bunched around his waist, and he dug his hands into it when Leon pushed an oiled finger into him, then another.

Leon shoved his breeches down and pressed forward. Arthur sucked in a breath and let it out shakily as Leon entered him.

He didn’t last long, not with Arthur’s silk-warmed body underneath him, his legs tight around Leon’s waist, urging him on, his blue eyes never straying from Leon’s face. He climaxed with a deep-chested groan, and Arthur sighed, his fingers smoothing through Leon’s hair.

“Only this once,” Arthur said, his voice soft and tired.

“Yes,” Leon agreed.

*

The needle pricked his shoulder, and Leon jerked away, scowling.

“Hold still,” Margaret scolded.

“I don’t need to be fitted for a new tunic,” Leon grumbled. “Mine are perfectly serviceable.”

“They are little better than rags. Mother would be appalled if she saw you wearing them at the king’s table.”

“I see you are spending a great deal of time with Sir Percival,” Leon observed, trying to hold still as Margaret advanced with another pin.

She blushed. “He has been most attentive and kind.”

“And?”

Margaret evaded his gaze. “And what?”

“And do you love him?”

“I have been here scarcely a month—to be sure, I need more time to decide whether I love him or not!” She tugged on the thick brown wool. “I must admit, though, that my feelings for him are strong.”

Leon made a noncommittal noise, and Margaret poked him. “Well?” she demanded.

“I believe he feels much the same,” Leon admitted. “Mother won’t like it, though.”

“I’ll worry about mother when I must. Don’t you go telling her about him.”

“Believe me, I have no wish to beard the lion in its den,” Leon replied. A knock sounded on the door, and he glanced over, calling out for the person to enter.

A servant opened it and said with a bow, “Sir Leon, the prince is asking for you.”

Glad to escape the tedium of a fitting, Leon left Margaret busy with a scissors and went to Arthur’s chambers. He found the prince sitting at his desk, arguing with Merlin over a map.

“I don’t see why we have to go that way,” Merlin was saying. “Why can’t we pass through these villages here? At least then we could spend the night at an inn.”

“And alert everyone to what we’re about?” Arthur scoffed. “If the bandits get word that we’re coming, they’ll go to ground. It would be like hunting a wily fox. Our only chance is if we can take them by surprise.”

“I still don’t see why we have to go on this expedition _now_ ,” Merlin muttered. “Winter is coming fast—it’ll be freezing out in the forest!”

“You’re welcome to stay here. I know how delicate you are,” Arthur mocked, and Merlin gave him a scowl.

“I’m not delicate! But who do you think will be out in the cold looking after the horses and fetching water and cooking?”

“Hmmm, let me think,” Arthur mused. “Why, that would be you, Merlin.”

“Exactly! You’ll be all nice and warm in your fancy tent, and I’ll be out in the cold and the dark.”

Arthur sighed and gave Merlin a little push. “Stop whining. We’re setting out two days from now and that’s the end of it. Now go see about organizing the provisions, like I asked.”

Merlin didn’t deign to give a reply, but stalked out, muttering under his breath.

Leon, who had been standing by the door, moved over to Arthur’s desk. “Merlin’s right—it’ll be cold. A good chance of snow, too.”

“I know, but they won’t be expecting a patrol, not this late in the year.” Arthur yawned and stretched his arms over his head, then gave Leon a lazy smile. “But time enough to worry about it tomorrow. It isn’t why I asked you here.”

“No?”

“No.” Arthur stood and slid his arms around Leon’s shoulders. “I thought we might enjoy a cup of wine in front of the fire.”

“And then?”

“And then we shall see how the mood strikes us,” Arthur murmured, twisting his fingers in the laces of Leon’s tunic.

*

A few snowflakes drifted down into the courtyard, catching in the horses’ manes. “It will let up soon,” Arthur said, glancing up at the sky.

“And if it doesn’t?” Merlin grumbled, cinching the rope tight around the pack tied to his saddle. “We’ll be stuck in the Forest of Ascetir in a snowstorm!”

It was a small party preparing to ride out—the prince, Merlin, Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, Philip, and Ector. Lance and Percival were staying behind.

“I can’t surround myself with the five of you all the time,” Arthur had said when Leon had protested. “The circumstances are difficult enough as it is—all it will take is a few rumors that I am building an army loyal to me and me alone for real trouble to begin.”

So Leon had told Percival to look after Margaret and that if he so much as entertained an inappropriate thought, Leon would have his head when he returned.

The snow did let up as they rode along, leaving only a dusting of white on the clumps of dead grasses and fallen leaves. At midday they left the road and took to the hills, often getting down to lead their horses over the rocky ground. They wore plain cloaks, no splashes of Pendragon red to catch watchful eyes. As the shadows lengthened, Arthur called a halt in a small copse of trees by the banks of a river.

“We’ll split up tomorrow,” Arthur said as they drew close around the fire. “We can cover more ground that way, and in three days, we’ll meet up on the northern border of the forest. If you do catch signs of any bandits, don’t attack, just take note of the location. I’ll take Leon and Merlin with me. Ector, why don’t you and Elyan circle round to the east. Gwaine and Philip, take the westerly course.”

They murmured their assent, and then fell silent. A chill wind blew through the trees, and the dark quelled lighthearted talk, drawing each man into his own thoughts.

The next day, he, Arthur, and Merlin set off for the heart of the forest. The path, when it could be made out, was choked with brambles and fallen tree limbs, and they had a weary time of it. All they saw were birds and once a fox, a quick dart of blazing fur that disappeared into the bushes. They pushed on late into the evening, and Arthur wouldn’t allow a fire for fear of being seen. So they ate a cold meal, and then Arthur and Merlin crawled into the tent while Leon took the first watch.

The silent hours dragged by, broken only by the cracklings of small animals moving through the underbrush. The thin new moon set early, and a pale starlight showed through the dark branches. At last, Leon went into the tent to rouse Arthur for his turn. The prince was curled closely about Merlin, but he woke quickly when Leon shook his shoulder. Leon took his place, his freezing hands and feet slowly warming.

“He’s all sharp elbows and knees,” Arthur muttered, when he and Merlin switched places a few hours later. Leon woke enough to mumble his agreement and slip an arm around Arthur.

“I keep trying to fatten him up,” Arthur went on, burying a cold nose against Leon’s chest. “But he’s still just skin and bone.” He kept on drowsily about making sure the kitchens stocked enough dried apricots, as Merlin seemed partial to those, before falling asleep again.

Leon dozed lightly, but woke up as dawn began lightening the air. He heard Merlin stamping around outside, cursing the cold, and drew a little closer to Arthur’s warmth, nuzzling the scruffy stubble on his face. A few gentle kisses, and Arthur’s eyes fluttered open. He smiled and kissed back, sucking on Leon’s lower lip while he pushed his hips forward, erection prodding at Leon’s thigh.

“We’ll have to be quick,” Leon breathed, trying to keep quiet, as he untied the laces of Arthur’s breeches. Arthur’s fingers were fumbling at his and a moment later, his fingers slid along Leon’s cock.

“Not a problem,” Arthur whispered back, thrusting into Leon’s fist with a groan.

“And quiet,” Leon admonished with a glance at the tent flaps.

Arthur’s solution was to dive under the blankets and suck Leon’s cock into his mouth. This didn’t help Leon, who had to bite his fist to keep his cries from escaping. Arthur’s mouth was wet and enthusiastic, and when Leon started coming, Arthur pulled off and milked Leon’s release into his hand. Leon could only watch, breathless, as Arthur sat up, the blankets falling down to his hips as he jerked himself off, his legs splayed around Leon’s thighs.

They were struggling into their clothes, still a little flushed, when Merlin ducked into the tent.

“All finished, then?” he said, grabbing his saddlebag and fishing inside for a piece of cheese.

Leon blushed, but Arthur laughed and stretched his arms over his head before relaxing back against Leon for a moment.

*

Late that afternoon they found the signs they were looking for—footprints in the mud and the smell of smoke. Leaving Merlin to watch the horses, Arthur and Leon proceeded on foot, finally dropping to their stomachs to crawl to the crest of a ridge and peer over.

Below was a collection of rude shelters, little more than bundles of sticks and hides. Smoke filtered out of a few of them, and there was a deer carcass stretched between two trees. Men were moving about—one was fletching arrows, another sharpening his sword, three more crouched on the ground, talking over a game of dice.

“I’d say about fifteen,” Leon whispered. It was hard to tell for sure, with the trees in the way.

Arthur nodded, his eyes flicking over the camp and the surrounding terrain. Tapping Leon’s shoulder, he jerked his head, and they wriggled backwards down the slope.

“We’ll mark the trees as we ride north to meet the others,” Arthur said as they returned to where Merlin was waiting. “That way we’ll be sure to find our way back.”

“Then you plan to attack?” Leon asked carefully.

“Yes. Who knows how long they’ll stay there? I won’t risk returning to Camelot to fetch more soldiers.”

“Still, fifteen to six, my lord—better than two to one.”

“Seven, Leon. There are seven of us.”

“But, sire—”

“Merlin knows how to handle himself in a fight. We’ll attack just before dawn, when most will still be asleep.”

They rendezvoused with the others the next day. Elyan and Ector had seen no one, and Gwaine and Philip had only met a pair of hunters who shared their fire for a night and then disappeared south.

“We had better luck,” Arthur told them and explained what they had found. “We’ll ride back immediately. I don’t want this to be a slaughter, though—capture if you can and kill only if you must.”

“And what will we do with prisoners?” Gwaine demanded. “Take them back to Camelot only to see them hanged there?”

“These men are outlaws,” Arthur replied. “I cannot let them pillage the countryside, but that does not mean all of them deserve a hangman’s noose. Some have probably done murder, it is true, but many are only here because they have nowhere else to turn. I will give them a choice, and they may decide their own fates.”

He said no more, only ordered them to move out, back into the depths of the forest. They moved more swiftly this time, sure of the way, and soon Leon was crouched once more on the outskirts of the bandits’ camp. He held his sword in one hand, fingers tight around the pommel, waiting for the signal. His heart pounded rapidly, but his mind was clear, and it strayed, as it always did before a fight, to those moments that were dear to his heart. His father, giving him his first sword with a proud smile; standing on the ramparts of the castle at dawn, his hand pressed to the cool stone, feeling such strength of purpose in the knowledge that he was her protector; holding Arthur close and bringing a smile to his face with a soft word or a kiss.

Then the signal was given, and Leon’s thoughts were shattered, and all he knew was the ground under his feet and the branches whipping past his face as he ran down the hill and into the outlaws’ camp.

The first man he came to was asleep, but he roused at the sound of Leon’s footsteps, starting awake. Leon struck him a glancing blow to the head, and he collapsed. Merlin was there a second later, rope in hand, binding the man’s wrists together tightly.

Leon moved on, but it was too late—shouts broke out and swords were drawn, their few moments of surprise expended. The next outlaw he met had his sword in hand, and Leon raised his with a shout, swinging it in a sharp curve towards the man’s throat. Their swords clashed, and the shock of it ran up Leon’s arms. He gritted his teeth and barreled forward, pushing the outlaw with his sword and body, until the man stumbled, and Leon’s sword bit into his side, hacking into bone and flesh. The outlaw fell, and Leon drove his blade into the man’s chest, watching his eyes widen in shock and then begin to glaze over as death stole him away.

Leon could never judge how much time passed during a fight, but suddenly it was over, and they were all still standing, although Ector had a bloody hand clamped over his arm, and Arthur was favoring his left leg. Six of the outlaws were dead, two were wounded so badly that Leon knew nothing could be done for them—they’d be dead, too, in a matter of hours—and the others were kneeling on the ground in front of Arthur.

Arthur’s face was hard, and he kept his sword in his hand, the blade still covered in blood. “I am Prince Arthur Pendragon,” he said. “You have broken our laws, and by rights, your lives are forfeit.” He took a step forward, and his leg shook. Merlin was by his side a second later, sliding his arm under Arthur’s shoulders. “I will offer you clemency, however, if you take up your swords to fight with us, rather than against us.” A few of the outlaws continued to look sullen, but the others looked up, their expressions lightening with hope.

“We have faced many troubles this past year—troubles that have left many men without a home or livelihood,” Arthur continued. His face was pale, fingers tight in Merlin’s tunic. “I can offer you positions in the king’s guard. It will not be an easy life, and you must be willing to sacrifice your life for this kingdom, if I ask it of you. But it will be an honorable life.”

“Aye, and if we don’t, you’ll send us to the gallows, won’t ye?” one of the outlaws demanded.

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “You have committed crimes against this kingdom. I am offering you a chance to atone for that.”

“I will fight for you, my lord,” one of them exclaimed, and four more added their voices in assent. The remaining two said nothing.

“Good,” Arthur said quietly. “I am glad. Merlin—”

“Here, Arthur. You need to sit down,” Merlin said, staggering a little, and Leon hurried forward to give him a hand. They got Arthur settled onto a log, and Merlin gently peeled off Arthur’s breeches. The wound in his thigh was a jagged slash, seeping blood. Merlin tended it with careful fingers, washing it and binding it tightly.

“You’ll be all right,” he said.

“’Course I will,” Arthur returned, scoffing, but he rested his hand on Merlin’s head for a moment, and Merlin smiled up at him.

“You’re all right, Leon?” Arthur asked, and Leon nodded. “And Ector?” Arthur called.

“Just a scratch, sire,” Ector replied.

“Well, let Merlin see to it.” Arthur sighed and sat still for a moment before taking Leon’s hand and struggling back to his feet. “Now, let’s get this sorted out so we’re on the road before much longer. I don’t know about you lot, but I’d prefer to spend tonight in a real bed.”

They buried the dead in shallow graves. Arthur took the oaths of the men who had agreed to join, searching their faces carefully before nodding and pardoning them. He split them up—two with Gwaine, one with Elyan, and two with Philip. The two who had refused were kept bound, and Leon tethered their ropes to his saddle, forcing them to trot behind his horse.

Arthur needed help getting into his saddle, but he looked better after eating something. Merlin kept close to him and soon they were nagging at each other in their usual way, a familiar background to the creaking of leather and armor as the party rode out of the forest and back onto the road. But Arthur fell silent when they reached the first village.

Cenred’s army had come this way en route to Camelot. Several of the houses were crumbled heaps of burned timbers and scorched stone. A few bedraggled chickens fluttered their wings in a yard, and a scrawny dog slunk past. The fields, barren now that the harvest had been brought in, looked dreary, broken stalks of barley trammeled into the mud. And Leon knew all too well how small that harvest had been.

Some of the villagers, catching sight of their party, slowly approached. Arthur rode forward and hailed them, announcing himself. A whisper of excitement ran through the gathering crowd, and everyone bowed.

“If you can shelter us for the night, we would be most grateful,” Arthur said.

“Of course, sire,” one of the men replied, presumably the spokesman for the village in these matters. “Have you come through the forest, sire?”

“Yes. We found an encampment of outlaws.” Arthur cast a grim look over his shoulder. “They will not trouble you any further.”

“Thank you, my lord, thank you. Are you wounded, sire?” he asked, noticing Arthur’s torn, blood-stained breeches.

“Not badly.” Arthur gestured. “Merlin—help me down.”

Merlin dismounted and hurried over, reaching up to catch Arthur’s weight as he hit the ground.

“You may stay in my house, my lord, if it pleases you,” the villager said, bowing again.

“Thank you. And we’ll need some place secure to keep these prisoners.”

“Yes, sire.”

Other villagers came forward to take the horses, and Leon dismounted as well. He turned the recalcitrant outlaws over to Ector for the moment, and followed Arthur, ready to lend a shoulder in case the prince’s leg gave out.

“I know that the harvest was not good this year,” Arthur was saying. “We have our own supplies—you need not concern yourself with feeding our party this evening.”

“I shall not fail in my duties as host, sire,” the villager protested with a quiet dignity, and Arthur sighed.

“Very well.”

“We don’t often see patrols from Camelot out here,” the villager said, opening the door of one of the huts and leading them inside. “I was very glad to learn that it was you, my lord, what with the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Arthur asked, limping over to a chair and sitting down.

“Yes, sire, about the old ruins up in the hills to the north. It used to be a strong keep, long ago. And now I’ve heard from travelers that a light has been seen in it at night—an uncanny light.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “They say that it is a witch.”

“A witch,” Arthur repeated. His voice was flat. Merlin’s mouth was pressed into a tight line.

“Yes, sire. I’ll go see to your horse, sire.” The villager departed, bowing his way out the door.

Merlin helped the prince remove his cloak and busied himself brushing the dust from it, but he kept his eyes on Arthur, looking as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Arthur stared into the small fire on the hearth, the only source of light in the dim room. The shadows seemed to crowd in around them. Leon jerked the door open again.

“It will be a hard winter,” Arthur said softly.

A hard winter, indeed. He took a deep breath of the cold air, which smelled of snow, and then turned away to go stand beside his prince.

 

~Fin~


End file.
